


The Gold Zone

by Alania_Black



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, The Sentinel fusion, sentinel/guides
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 15:50:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4485523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alania_Black/pseuds/Alania_Black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where the Dwarves exiled from Erebor stumbled into the warm embrace of the Shire and built their new homes in the hills surrounding it, Thorin Oakenshield has grown into one of the strongest and most well-respected Alpha Sentinels the Dwarven race has ever had. But the King Under the Mountain has never taken a Guide amongst his kin, and after almost 100 years of struggling with his gifts on his own, his people grow concerned for his mental well-being.</p><p>Meanwhile, tucked safely away in his Smial, Bilbo Baggins has grown accustomed to his quiet, respectable life. Until the day a Wizard emerges from his past with promises of an adventure Bilbo never asked for and doesn't want, and Bilbo mind awakens gifts that no Hobbit has ever had...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Little Black Dress challenge on [Rough Trade](http://www.keiramarcos.com/roughtrade/):  
> The Sentinel is the little black dress of fandom - you can fuse it with any fandom. Write 3 stories with Sentinels/Guides in your chosen fandoms, each 10,000-15,000 words long, in 31 days during the month of July.
> 
> Notes and details about this story can be found on my LJ [here](http://earyn-black.livejournal.com/71987.html).

There was a time, some two thousand years before our story begins, when a race of folk who would one day become known as the Hobbits of the Shire lived in the vales and riverbanks of the Anduin at the foot of the Misty Mountains. They lived there for many thousands of years in peace, but there was a growing darkness across the land that filled the minds and hearts of that people with dread. After a long, hard decade of ever weakening spirits, leaner harvests and deeper winters, the tribe leaders decided to move their people away from those cursed lands. 

Not all of the people left, many of the stubborn water-dwelling Stoors chose to remain behind, although when their departed kin finally settled and sent word of safe harbour, the Stoors slowly trickled away from the Gladden Fields until, not long after the banishment of the one known as Sméagol and the time known as the Poisoned Well, the last of the Stoors abandoned the ancestral dwelling of the Hobbits. 

The tallest and fairest of the folk, the Fallohides, chose to rely on their links with the Elves and travelled south to Lorien, rather than west with the rest of the first travellers. They were to be sorely disappointed – although they were welcomed in, given rest and respite, the Elves did not want such fleeting mortal lives to live amongst them for long. They sent word to their travelling kin that safety could not be found among the Elves and, several years later, the Fallohides were forced to leave the safety of Lorien and follow their kin in exile.

The following years were hard on the wandering people. Many died from starvation, exposure or illness - more were taken by the large predators that roamed the open plains. The larger folks had no succour or support for the smallest folks in Middle-Earth. It took many long years of heartache and suffering before they finally, finally came across the sweet green lands of Eriador and began to settle into new homes. The years following were years of building and growing, of recovery from the hardship that had been all many of their people had ever known; a time that became the Longest Winter. When they emerged, stronger and yet sweeter for it, the people became known to their new neighbours as Hobbits.

Now, in these long years of wandering and strife, the people know as Hobbits had needed protection and guidance. There had always been those known as Gifted, who could see and hear better, who could taste sickness in the water and smell ripeness in crops that had not yet been harvested. But in the first short months wandering, the Gift emerged in more and more people, and those who were Gifted took on new, stronger traits; they started to connect with the earth and world around them. And, in others who did not have the Gift, a new power developed – softer and sweeter but just as powerful. These people were known as the Guides, for they guided those with the gift away from the dangers that their gifts presented for them. 

After settling in the Shire, the Gift began to slowly go dormant among their people, until the battle of Fornost, where a company of Hobbit archers made up entirely of the Gifted set out to support the final battle against the Witch-King Angmar. It marked the last of the hardships the Hobbits would face, and their lives settled into a slow, easy peace. Within a generation, only the Thains and leaders still showed signs of the Gift and, within another two generations, the Gift no longer presented among the Hobbit folk. 

* * * * *

**T.A. 2800**

Many hundreds of years after the battle of Fornost, the Hobbits of the Shire woke one morning to find a Dwarven horde on their doorstep. The company were led by a battle-weary King Thrain and his son, the Prince Thorin. Although it had been many thousands of years since the long winter, so long that it was little but myth and tales to the Hobbit folk, deep inside their collective consciousness they remembered the pain of those harsh, cold years. The harrowed looks in the eyes of the Dwarven leaders told their tale as well as any, and the missing Dwarves in family groups – fathers, brothers, sons lost to war, wives and mothers and children lost to sickness and injury on the road. 

The Dwarves had planned to continue travelling, hoping to find a new mountain to make home after the worm took their mountain from them. Hoping, perhaps, that distant relatives in the Blue Mountains could provide temporary shelter for their people. But the small folks of the Shire were warmer and more welcoming than any other people across the whole of the Middle-Earth that they had travelled through. They took their people in, gave them shelter and food and warmth, and finally, when it looked like the Dwarves were beginning to settle in, they offered them home. 

On the outskirts of the Shire, only an hour or so outside the borders of Hobbiton, were the hills of the White Downs. The first hobbit settlers had made homes there, and the remnants of their dwellings provided shelter for the Dwarves through a long summer while they delved into the hills and carved out homes of their own. It was not ideal – they were nothing like the true mountains of their homes and the best they could mine were rocks and tiny gems, but the Hobbits of the Shire were always more than happy to buy what they could sell. They were also eager for good smithing work for their farming tools, having previously relied on the Men at Bree or the occasional wandering smith. The generous folk also set up an arrangement with the King for protection against threats in return for a supply of food to their new settlement – the Dwarf King did not need to know that the biggest threat they had faced in many hundreds of years had been Tilly Proudfoot’s preserves, after all.

Some 90 years later, in the year 2890 of the Third Age, the young Hobbit lass Belladonna Took married her childhood sweetheart Bungo Baggins and (with some knowing looks from her fellow Hobbits for the timeline) soon after gave birth to a son, Bilbo Baggins. Bungo and Belladonna loved their baby fiercely; and vowed that no one would find out the truth of his heritage – he showed every sign physically and as he grew of being a perfectly normal Hobbit.

Until the day that a Wizard invited him on an unwanted adventure and soon after a company of Dwarves turned up on his doorstep.


	2. Chapter Two

Bilbo Baggins hummed quietly in happiness as he snipped another daffodil at the base and carefully added the stem to his small pile, stroking the barely-open bud gently. Eight was enough, he decided, looking over the rest of his patch. The missing stems would not be noticed among the cloud of yellow and cream flowers that would wave merrily at passers-by for the next few weeks and remind everyone that spring was under way and the winter had passed. 

He paused to admire his door, tentatively running his free hand on the freshly-painted wood, before pushing on inside and scrounging up one of his mother’s vases for the flowers. He popped the vase onto his kitchen table, where he would be able to admire the flowers as the closed buds popped open over the next day or two and added some much-needed cheer to his quiet home. 

He put his garden shears with the rest of his small collection of garden tools – he was not a gardener at heart, and Hamfast Gamgee had been caring for his gardens longer than Bilbo had been master of Bag End. But on occasion he did join Hamfast in the garden, and liked to keep the tools his mother had commissioned for him from the dwarves clean and sharp. After a quick wash, Bilbo headed to his study to work on his papers. 

He settled down at his desk with his quill and ink, and pulled his accounts book towards him. A few moments later he sighed and put the book aside – there was nothing he really had to update in there and he could hardly work up the enthusiasm for the dull task now. He frowned at his other papers and finally pulled a fresh sheet towards him. If he was not up to the tasks of his accounts, perhaps he could finally find some inspiration for the book he was struggling to write. 

But a few blank sheets of paper and more useless ink-blots than he’d like later, Bilbo gave up and strode away from the desk with a disconsolate frown. He wandered out of his study, feeling frustrated and irritable and lonely. There was nothing he had to do and no one to do anything with. He decided that taking a turn with his pipe might help, so he returned to the kitchen to fetch his pipe and matches. He summoned a small half-smile for the daffodils, the yellow petals already peeping through. 

Bilbo took a slow stroll outside and sat on his favourite bench with his pipe between his teeth, just watching the residents of Hobbiton go about their daily lives for a time. A group of fauntlings were playing in the field – Elves, if his childhood memories were correct – while older faunts watched over them and giggled and, knowing some of them, plotted pranks and mushroom raids. A few Hobbits moved around at speed, clearly carrying out some duties – Holman Cotton was probably out delivering some of his milk, going by his basket; Jessamine Bolger was clearly out on the rounds of her home-bound patients. Willa Cotton hurried past as fast as a lass of her advanced pregnancy could, likely off to visit her family while she had the chance before the baby came. 

As he watched, one of the Took faunts broke away from the rest of the group with one of the small balls they played with. She – Rosamunda he was sure - dropped the ball and chased it into the main roadway as it rolled away. She neatly avoided several of the Hobbits around her as she followed her ball, but then bumped straight into the armoured leg of one of the two dwarves currently patrolling the area. She landed on her bottom and promptly began the soft wail that only faunts of her age – three or four, no more than that – could manage. 

The dwarf she bumped into winced, which made Bilbo think he (she? He never could tell but he was sure the lady Dwarves had thinner beard hair) was the Gifted one, but carefully picked her up and dusted her off anyway. The other one fetched her ball and handed it to her with a soft pat to her head, and the return of her ball cheered her up enough to feel free to tug on the jewelled beads on the Gifted one. Bilbo blew a few smoke rings as he watched the Dwarf kneel so the baby faunt could tug on the beads in his beard braids and giggle.

Later, much later, he would blame this incident for not noticing the Wizard sat on the bench next to him until a well-aimed smoke cloud destroyed one of his smoke rings. He stared at his un-asked for companion for a few long moments, before returning his gaze to the road in time to watch Rosamunda race back to her cousins with the ball and a delighted shriek. The Gifted Dwarf winced again, but neither looked particularly unhappy as they continued their patrol through the high road of Hobbiton. He blew another smoke ring, and frowned as it was once again destroyed by the Wizard’s own smoke. He risked another glance at the man and found he was being watched.

“Good morning,” he said finally, the words coming out as more of a question than a greeting. And thus began the most unusual and frustrating conversation of his life – even including every meeting he had with Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. The upshot of the whole thing was that he was left sitting on his bench several minutes later with words like ‘adventure’ and ‘journey’ ringing in his ears. He couldn’t help but think of his mother, who had once been friendly with Gandalf. She was always thrilled by the Dwarves, and often spoke of the wild adventures she wanted to go on. She had been, at heart, truly a wild and free Took. 

But Bilbo was a Baggins through and through, and his mother had been dead these last seven years, leaving him alone in Bag End. He shook away the conversation with the Wizard Gandalf, and blew the last of his smoke before putting out the pipe. “No, we definitely don’t want any adventures here, Mr Gandalf.” He muttered to himself, before hurrying back into Bag End. 

Suddenly, spending several hours going through his accounts did not seem overly dull, after all.


	3. Chapter Three

By the time Bilbo settled down for an early dinner the following day, the whole conversation with Gandalf had been, if not forgotten, at least put out of his mind. So much so that, when a knock sounded at his door, Bilbo hurried to answer it with only a mild curiosity as to who would be visiting at this time of the day. 

He was not expecting to open his door to find a horde of Dwarves standing on his doorstep, and was rendered quite speechless for several moments. This proved to be a mistake as, in his stunned state, the Dwarves were all able to bundle themselves into his Smial. He could only gape in disbelief as they began piling weapons and cloaks and packs in his hallway, burying his mother’s glory-box in a heap of Dwarven garments and blatantly ignoring his cloak-stand. He quickly began picking up the cloaks, shaking them out and hanging them up. 

“Is there any dinner?” One of them called out to him, “we were promised dinner when we arrived.” Bilbo turned around to respond, and found that the Dwarves had already found his pantry and were unloading food from it. He frowned irritably as they took over his table and began passing around his food and his mother’s best crockery without so much as a by-your-leave. One of them – the really large one – had even taken Bilbo’s dinner plate and was devouring the food on it!

“Well,” Bilbo huffed, “well I never-! What are you all even – I – why are you here?” He exclaimed finally. One of their heads popped up, and shot him a beaming smile, a fistful of bread in one hand and cheese in the other.

“We’re here for the quest of course!” He exclaimed, before suddenly jumping up. “How rude, we did not introduce ourselves! Kili, at your service, and this here is my brother, Fili, Crown Prince of Erebor,” he waved at the blonde Dwarf sitting beside him, who lifted his head from his food and nodded briefly. 

“And these are our cousins – or second or third cousins of sorts: there’s Balin and Dwalin, they are brothers;” he motioned to a Dwarf with a truly magnificent white beard who offered a smile and a nod, and the bald-headed Dwarf beside him who grunted in acknowledgement. “And there’s Oin and Gloin,” Oin bowed his steely grey head gracefully, Gloin followed shortly after. 

“And there’s Dori, Nori and Ori, they’re brothers and related to us somewhere down the way;” he motioned a Dwarf with very neat grey hair and a purple hood, then one with odd star-shaped hair and a third with a grey knitted hood and gloves. 

“And finally we have Bombur,” he motioned a truly magnificent sized Dwarf with large red beard braid; “his brother Bofur,” a Dwarf with a funny hat and warm smile waved gracelessly at him; “and their cousin Bifur.” He pointed towards the last of the Dwarves, with wild black and grey hair. He then turned back to Bilbo and bowed with a flourish.

“And we are the company of Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain. He should be here soon; I believe he was meeting with Gandalf.”

“King Under – I cannot have the King of the White Downs in my Smial, I haven’t dusted!” Bilbo exclaimed, then shook his head at his inanity. “Oh my, oh bother. Gandalf you say, of course Gandalf is behind this with his stupid adventure talks!”

Bilbo tugged fretfully at his curls and turned away from the company of Dwarves at his table. They had been quite raucous up to this point, but now they were all staring at him with varying expressions of amusement (except Bombur, who was still happily munching away on all of Bilbo’s provisions). He took a deep breath, trying to will away the confusion in his mind. The Dwarves all returned to their eating, and gradually the noise level rose again, until suddenly a few of them broke into song. He turned back to his table in time to exclaim in horror as one of them (Fili, was that Fili or Kili – or Nori?) jumped on his table and started dancing of all things, dancing on his table between his mother’s best crockery and the contents of Bilbo’s pantry. The other one (it must be Fili and Kili, he decided) jumped up as well, and they started dancing and spinning a ditty, while another yelled and threw a bread roll at them. The roll missed and bounced off another Dwarf, who let out a yell and threw it back, where it promptly bounced off another one. Bilbo whimpered and finally quit the room when the contents of the table began flying back and forth at each other. 

Bilbo sat down in his study with a book, and spent the next hour or so reading and trying valiantly to ignore the sounds of the Dwarves making merry in his dining room. He knew enough of Dwarves to know they would be respectful of his belongings, and he had no desire to try and wrangle eleven rowdy Dwarves to behave like Hobbits. Dwarves were not Hobbits, after all, everyone knew that, and this was hardly a dinner party. 

He jerked his head up from his book some time later to find the noises from the next room had changed. He set aside his book without bothering to mark his place, shuffled back into his slippers and set off to investigate. He went to the dining room first and found the whole room had been returned to its original state (aside from some stray breadcrumbs). His mother’s crockery was clean and stacked neatly back in the cupboard, and a quick scan of the kitchen showed that had also been returned to its original state. His pantry was, unsurprisingly, bare aside from a wilted and sad-looking lettuce. 

He followed the sounds of music and song to the next room, where the Dwarves had all settled into his parlour. Several of them had broken out instruments, and a few of them were singing along to some ditty that, after a few moments, Bilbo realised with a flush was a rather bawdy inn song. In fact, if he wasn’t much mistaken, it was a Hobbit inn song that had been rendered for Dwarven instruments and voices. 

Before he could decide if he wanted to join them or return to his study, a knock came at the door. He answered it with trepidation, not really ready for there to be a King at his door, and slightly concerned it might be another horde of Dwarves that just hadn’t been mentioned yet. Thankfully, or maybe not, when he opened the door it was to one rather stern looking Dwarf and a familiar tall Wizard. Instantly, all the low simmering irritation and annoyance that had been sitting in Bilbo’s stomach since the first Dwarves arrived exploded, and before he knew it he was tugging Gandalf into his Smial by his beard and snapping irritably at him.

“What have you done, you, you – you over-tall, irritating, meddling Wizard?! What part of no adventures did you not understand yesterday and how could you invite a whole horde of Dwarves to descend on my home without any warning so I could make sure I had food in for them and they wouldn’t raid my pantry and my mother’s best crockery!”

Bilbo wound down from his rant to find the previously mentioned horde all standing in the doorway to his parlour, grinning widely at him, while the King Under the Mountain stood in his doorway with his arms folded. Bilbo flushed and carefully untangled his fingers from Gandalf’s beard, stepping back from the Wizard. Gandalf had the gall to look amused at him, and waved his guest into Bilbo’s home. 

“Bilbo, my boy, of course I didn’t warn you that they were coming, they were already a day’s journey towards Hobbiton and I would rather you answered the door to them when they called! Now, this is Thorin, son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain.” He motioned to the new Dwarf, who stepped forward and stood, regal and expectant. Bilbo stared at him for a few moments, before he startled and realised he should do – something, but what? 

“Um, well, welcome, I suppose, to Bag End. Can I take your cloak and offer you a cup of tea?” He asked finally. He heard a muffled snort from behind him, and clearly the Dwarf heard more, because he shot a hot glare in the direction of his company. 

“Here.” He thrust his cloak rather abruptly at Bilbo. “No tea. Is there food?”

“Err, well,” Bilbo stammered, still holding the cloak. There was something about this Dwarf, more than all the others, that he found quite intimidating. 

“We saved you a plate, Uncle.” Kili called from the doorway, “and there is some ale as well.”

Thorin nodded his head towards his nephew, who hurried off towards the kitchen. He then turned his stern gaze back on Bilbo, who finally realised he was still standing in his open doorway in his slippers and robe, clutching the King Under the Mountain’s cloak to his chest. He hurried to hang the cloak up, and tried to cajole his guests back to the parlour. 

The King followed them and settled himself into Bilbo’s favourite armchair, accepting a plate of food and mug of ale from Kili. He ate quickly but surprisingly neatly, compared to the other Dwarves, and had finished the plate within a few minutes. Bilbo accepted the plate when the King held it out for him, trying not to notice the odd sight of the larger, rough hand of the Dwarven King, holding one of his mother’s dainty and floral-patterned little plates. He hurried out to clean the plate off, relieved to be away from the parlour and the unsettling King there. He spent a few restless moments cleaning off surfaces and tidying things away, but the Dwarves had done a very good job of restoring his kitchen to a clean state and he ran very quickly out of things to do. So with one deep, steeling breath, he returned to his parlour. 

“So, Gandalf,” the King addressed the Wizard, but his eyes were on Bilbo and he had clearly been waiting for him to return; “when you asked us to meet you here, you promised us a burglar. I have to admit, I don’t know what I was expecting you to produce in the middle of Hobbiton, but a Hobbit is not really what I had in mind.”

“Burglar?” Bilbo squeaked. They ignored him.

“Nonsense, I asked you to meet me in a Hobbit town, who else would I have brought for you but a Hobbit? They make fine burglars.”

“Now, really, Gandalf-“ Bilbo tried, fruitlessly.

“He doesn’t look much like a thief, and I have never heard reports of thefts in Hobbiton, aside from the odd teaspoon or mushrooms from the farmers. I think I would have been made aware if my Sentinels had discovered thefts in the Shire.”

“Now, wait, I’m sorry, but did you say thief? I’ll have you know I haven’t stolen a thing in all my life!” Bilbo exclaimed. He was getting tired of being ignored. 

“Gandalf, this is not a mere jaunt to the neighbouring town or a childish attempt to steal apples from the orchards without getting caught. I need a proper burglar.” 

“I assure you, Thorin, that Bilbo is the best burglar you will find in the whole of the Shire, and he is just what this quest needs.”

“Stop! Stop, no, this is not happening. Someone needs to tell me what is going on here and stop calling me a thief!” Bilbo exclaimed. Finally, they seemed to listen – and he suddenly found that all eyes were on him. 

The King sighed and looked back at Gandalf. “Look, Gandalf, I appreciate everything you are doing to help me on this quest, especially when I cannot even get the support of the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains. But you cannot expect me to take a Hobbit on this quest with me as a burglar! Hobbits may have proven themselves to me to be braver and stronger than they look, and generous enough that I’m sure they would be willing to aid us on our quest if we asked; but they are not trained warriors and they are made for the soft comfort of their Smials, with six meals a day – not months of hard travel and danger around every corner. You cannot expect me to accept a Hobbit on this quest!”

The other Dwarves were nodding in agreement, and their voices began clamouring with agreement. Bilbo nodded as well, and tried not to feel too offended when he was called soft by more than one Dwarf. It was true, after all, compared to the Dwarves, Hobbits were soft. 

“Enough!” Gandalf shouted, and in that moment he appeared much larger than normal, like a proper, dangerous Wizard rather than the old firework maker he usually appeared. “If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, than a burglar he is! Thorin, as a Sentinel you should know better than any that Hobbits are light on their feet and can pass un-noticed by many. And, while the dragon knows the smell of Dwarves, the scent of a Hobbit is all but unknown to us, so he will be able to pass by un-noticed. You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company and so I have. Bilbo Baggins will be your burglar, he has more to offer than anyone could know – including himself.”

Thorin sat back and sighed. “You are right, Hobbits have long proven to be remarkably good at sneaking around my Sentinels. But I cannot guarantee his safety in the wild Gandalf, surely you must know this?”

“Understood.” Gandalf nodded solemnly, “but you must trust me on this.”

“Fine, Balin, give him the contract.” Thorin nodded, eyes landing on Bilbo again. Bilbo wanted to protest, he did, but something warm and insistent was stirring in his stomach as the King’s dark eyes remained steadily on him. He found he could not look away, could not escape the strange feeling overtaking him, even as his hand took up a quill. 

The King finally looked away, and Bilbo found himself holding a signed contact. For better or worse, his fate had been sealed.


	4. Chapter Four

Bilbo Baggins was not one for ponies at the best of days - they were too big and strong and liked to bite. A week on a pony getting from Hobbiton to Bree had not done anything to improve his opinion on this matter. He had sores in places he didn't want to think about, he couldn't walk properly and he had a headache pressing up behind his eyeballs since that very first day.

And hd smelled like pony. Couldn't forget that one. 

He couldn't imagine how the three Sentinels in their group were coping with the smells, although he expected they had probably recorded training for it. At least Dwalin had Ori as his Guide to help balance his senses (and hadn't Bilbo been embarrassed, on the third day, when he finally figured that relationship out!). And he had been told that Bifur was 'latent - he's not dormant Mr Boggins, not even with the axe in his cap!' By the Crown Prince. He didn't actually know what any part of that meant but he understood that Bifur did not have the Sentinel senses.

The King Under the Mountain, however, was a different story. Bilbo could see hives raising across his exposed skin and the grimace he wore almost permanently was a sign of the sensory induced headache he had been suffering for the last few days. Bilbo knew he was a Sentinel but he didn't understand why he was being affected this way.

They arrived in Bree in the early afternoon, while Men, Hobbits and Dwarves where still roaming around, trading and socialising. Bilbo went almost dizzy with relief when the King started moving them towards lodgings for the night. He'd been somewhat worried that they would try to push on for the extra few hours of daylight and end up sleeping somewhere in the wilderness outside the town. 

As part of the agreement between Dwarves and Hobbits for protection, the Dwarves had set up Guardhouses in every large town in the Shire and a few places along the routes so that the Dwarves patrolling could stay in comfort and safety without putting anyone out. 

Their company had been welcome to stay in guest rooms in each Guardhouse specifically appointed for travelling Dwarves (mostly those trading with Bree). The Dwarves in each Guardhouse had been overjoyed, in their Dwarfish way, to have their King and Alpha Sentinel staying with them. 

It made it hard for Bilbo to relax around the King when he was constantly reminded of the honour and awe that the Dwarves felt for their Saviour King; Oakenshield, the defeated of Azog the Defiler, the King that had led them to safety and comfort in the White Downs. He was quite used to speaking to the Thain of the Shire with familiarity, being his family, but that didn't stop him from feeling awkward and vaguely scandalised at calling the King Under the Mountain by his given name, and the reactions from those they met along the way did not make this feeling ease away.

The original agreement between the Dwarves and the Hobbits of the Shire did not extend as far as the town of Men at Bree, but they had been allowed to install a Guardhouse-and-lodging house in Bree to host those who travelled there regularly for trade. And, agreement or not, Bilbo recognised the patterns of patrolling guards in the town square with fond amusement. He watched, fascinated, as a ripple of acknowledgement seemed to spread through the Dwarves that their King was in their midst. 

Somehow, he was not surprised that when they arrived at the Guardhouse, there were Dwarves ready to take their Ponies and usher them into a room with food, ale, fresh clothes and steaming baths already richly appointed for their King and his honoured companions.

Bilbo moaned at the sight, overwhelmed by his choices. Did he want to fill his hungry belly with a delicious (Hobbit made, he noticed) feast, or did he want to strip off the dust and sweat and horsehair and sink into a soothing, healing bath?

The King, surprisingly, provided the perfect answer - he took a goblet of ale and a platter of meat cuts and cheeses to the bath, where he stripped off all of his clothes unselfconsciously and slid into the water. Bilbo rapidly followed suit - there were six baths set up so they would have to share or have second-hand water, but a lot of the Dwarves had settled down with the food so Bilbo was able to slip modestly into a bath of his own. 

He had been so relaxed with his clean body, warm ale and delicious food, to the point that he was oblivious to the Dwarves around him until a voice suddenly startled him.

“Thorin? Thorin!” Bilbo’s eyes jerked open and to the side, where Kili was bending over the bathtub the King was lying in. The King was… blank. His eyes were almost completely closed, his face blank and his breathing shallow, and he made no sign that he was aware of anything around him. Yet he was not asleep, or in any form of repose. 

“Should I try…” Bilbo looked to the other bathtub beside him, where Ori and Dwalin were sharing a bath. Ori was leaning half out of the bath, Dwalin’s hands curled possessively around his hips. He didn’t know what was going on, didn’t know what Ori was offering, but somehow a part of him was violently unhappy with the suggestion. He launched himself out of the bathtub, tugging a bath sheet around his hips with minimal discomfort.

He stepped up beside Kili, staring at the King lying in the tub. His skin was red – the bath wasn’t steaming any more but it looked like it was burning the King’s skin. His chest, shoulders and arms had painful looking hives dotted across them. And, despite Kili now shaking him roughly and calling his name, he was still completely oblivious to the world around him. 

Bilbo touched Kili’s arm lightly, drawing him away from the King. He dipped a finger into the water to test the temperature, finding it warm but not overly hot. He frowned over the lotions at the side of the bath, discarding them one by one until he came across a soothing lavendar oil that he knew was made by Hobbits for their fauntling’s sensitive skin. He wondered why these Dwarves had it, but it was probably the best thing for the King’s skin right now. 

He poured the oil over his hands and rubbed it gently to warm it up. He heard someone behind him begin to speak, before being hushed by someone else, but resolved himself to ignoring his audience as he began soothing the oil over the worst of the King’s hives. 

“I think, your Highness, that you are worrying your company. I know you are worrying me. I hope this will soothe the pains you are feeling here, and make these welts go away. I would quite like you to open your eyes for me now, your Highness, if you don’t mind the requests of a simple Hobbit.” He sighed, pouring a little more oil over his hands. It seemed to be working, the welts were already looking less red and angry. His babbled words, as soothing as he tried to make his tone, were probably only helping himslef at this point. 

“Bilbo,” Kili started, “I appreciate you trying to help, but Thorin can only really be helped by a Guide at this point.”

Bilbo looked over at Ori, who was being held resolutely in place by Dwalin. He had a feeling that, if needed, they would both be willing for Ori to help the King, but he was certain that they felt as deeply as he did that it would be wrong. 

“Never you mind, Kili, go on back to the feast for now. I’ll see to his Highness for a bit longer before we look to disturb Ori’s bath.”

With that, Bilbo turned away from Kili, and resumed his gentle administrations to the King’s chest. “I would really like it if you would come back to me, your Highness,” he murmured, “I don’t like seeing you like this.” 

He put the oil away, satisfied that it had done as much as it could, and sighed. He wasn’t quite ready to give up. 

“Please open your eyes now,” he asked, gently stroking over the King’s shoulders. “Please Thorin.”

And somehow, Bilbo really didn’t understand why, the last soft request worked – and with a soft gasp, Thorin looked up and stared right at Bilbo’s face.


	5. Chapter Five

“So, Bilbo is a Guide?” Fili asked. Bilbo looked down at his hands, and shook his head.

“No, I’m not. I can’t be – Hobbits do not have the Gift.” He protested softly. It was the first thing he’d said since the incident at the bath. Bilbo had been gently shuffled off to dry and settle by the fire with the food – Thorin had been carefully led to his room by Kili and neither had so far returned.

“But you soothed Thorin’s skin and brought him out of a zone. Bilbo, only Guides can do that for a Sentinel!” Kili protested. Bilbo shook his head quietly, still unable to bring himself to look up. 

“Bilbo Baggins, what have you been up to now?” 

Bilbo wilted with relief when Gandalf carefully ducked into the room, and walked across to where he was seated. The Guardhouse was designed for the short-statured Dwarves, and Gandalf looked as large and out of place here as he did in Bilbo’s Smial. But despite his almost comical height, he was still a very welcome sight for the confused Hobbit. 

“Gandalf,” Bilbo sighed quietly. 

“I have seen Thorin,” the Wizard said, “he looks relatively well for all that he has been through today. I understand that has something to do with you.”

“No, I- no.” Bilbo said, and nodded his head sharply. “No, this has nothing to do with me.”

“Bilbo, it has everything to do with you!” Fili protested, “Gandalf, he helped Thorin control his skin reactions and brought him out of a zone!”

“Yes, that does sound like you had an effect Bilbo. Hmm, perhaps you would give Bilbo and I some time for a discussion?” He asked Fili. 

“Of course Gandalf, I’ll go check on Thorin.” He nodded, and hurried away from them both. Bilbo watched him go, then looked around the room. Dwalin and Ori were nowhere to be seen. All six baths were taken up by Dwarves who were doing a poor job or pretending they weren’t watching and listening to everything going on around Bilbo. The final two members of the company, Gloin and Bombur, were sitting at the other side of the common room with the remains of the feast spread out on the table in front of them. 

“Hmm, perhaps we should take this discussion outside, my dear Bilbo?” Bilbo laughed quietly and nodded. He patted his pocket to ensure he had his pipe and tobacco, and he followed Gandalf outside. 

The bench they finally settled on was a short walk down from the Guardhouse. Bilbo was struck with how _big_ everything was – he had only really left the Shire a handful of times, and all of them had been on journeys with his parents as a child here to Bree. The town and the people had seemed huge to him – but he was a Fauntling, and everything seemed huge. Now, he was aware how truly big it all was, even to an adult Hobbit. 

They both sat in silence for a few minutes while Bilbo tapped out his pipe, refilled it, lit it and took a slow, deep inhale. The routine was so soothing, Bilbo was momentarily tempted to tap out his pipe and re-do the whole thing, but settled for just taking another deep inhale and blowing out a long, exasperated stream of smoke. 

“I’m not a Guide.” He said flatly. “Hobbits do not have the Gift.”

“Do you know what I find interesting about that statement, Bilbo? I find your word choices quite interesting.”

“What?” Bilbo spluttered, finally looking up (and up) at the Wizard.

“Dwarves call them Guides and Sentinels. There is a rune in the Angerthas Erebor, used among Thorin’s kind, that represents both; but there is no word. You use the term ‘Guide’ because you have learned it from the Dwarves and the Princes said it of you. But, you also use the term ‘Gift’.”

“So, that’s what we’ve always called them?” Bilbo replied. Gandalf smiled and nodded, pointing his pipe briefly at Bilbo.

“Exactly, Mr Baggins. Exactly. And when did ‘always’ start?”

“Always is always, I didn’t realise it had a start.”

“Everything has a start, Bilbo. And an end. But I digress. Did you start calling them Gifted when the Dwarves arrived, with Sentinels and Guides among them? It does not seem likely, since you’ve already proven that you have no issues using their own terms. No, you use the term ‘Gifted’ because it is part of the Hobbit language to describe these types of people.”

“But there have never been Guides and Sentinels among our people.” Bilbo said. 

“As you are now, there are no Sentinels or Guides, that is true. But you use words that no other race uses, which means you have to have had something in your past – something that is still possible among your people now.”

Bilbo fell into a contemplative silence for a while, just watching the people. It had fallen to twilight, and the people of Bree were hurrying about to finish their necessary tasks before the night fell true and the last of the light disappeared. There were some lamps set up with candles for those who were out at night, and the Inn across the way was already glowing warmly and spilling merry sounds and the occasional early drunkard out into the square. They were not, he decided, so different from Hobbits like this – a little more interested in their trades and their goods, a little less interest in the welfare of their neighbours, but essentially quite similar.

“My mother used to tell me stories, on nights like this,” he started, “we would sit in the garden and have tea and she would tell be stories before we went to bed. She would sometimes tell me stories of our ancestors – those who lived in the Anduins. She would tell me about the Gifted ones - she said that during the Longest Winter, the Gifted ones could hear the trickle of fresh water from a mile away, could see safe shelter or feel a coming storm before it hit, could smell if food was edible or poisonous. She said they saved many hundreds of Hobbit lives. But when we found the safety of the Shire, and our people no longer needed it, the Gift went dormant in our people like a bulb goes dormant in the soil during the winter months. But that’s not… they weren’t really Sentinels. There weren’t any Guides.”

“I have to admit, at that time, I didn’t know of your people or spend time with them. But I do know how the gifts emerged among other races – Dwarves, Men – they were warrior races so they needed the gifts for war as well as survival and it made them develop stronger. But all started the same way, with the advanced senses. Eventually they developed, their senses sharpened and strengthened, their powers grew and they became what we know today as Sentinels. And with their strengthening powers came their Guides, their connection to the earth and their tribes, who kept them steady and helped them control their senses.” Gandalf explained solemnly. Bilbo watched a Hobbit couple wander past, and considered the new information Gandalf had given him. It was strange, to have his certain knowledge of his people changed around him. 

“So we did have Sentinels and Guides.”

“You had the… precursors to them. I think that your people never needed the full power of the Gifts and so they never developed, and when you settled in the Shire and became Hobbits, those Gifts went completely dormant.” 

“I guess that maybe that explains this… me, I mean. I must have the Gifts dormant inside me and when there was a Sentinel in distress near me the Gifts came out enough for me to help and now they will go away again?” Bilbo asked hopefully. A small spike of pain lanced through his head, and he realised that the headache he had been carrying around for a week had gone away. But now it was coming back. 

“Do you really think that’s what is happening, Bilbo?”

“I don’t know, but I would like to hope so.” He answered softly. Gandalf sighed and patted his shoulder.

“My dear Bilbo, I know you are not one to hide from the truth for long. So, I will tell you this: what you did for Thorin is nothing like the Gift your people had. You have emerged as a fully empowered Guide. I should have seen it – that headache you have been suffering with for the last week is one of the first signs of an emerging Guide without a bond.”

“But my people have never had Guides before!”

“No, and it is very strange. Still, the potential was there inside you and the world is changing. There is a darkness growing and spreading across the land, like nothing your people have seen since they moved to the Shire. It is possible that you are just the first of the Hobbits to start to emerge with the gifts.”

“But what does it all mean, Gandalf? And why me?” Bilbo cried.

“That, my good man, is something I do not have the answer to. For some things, only time can ever truly answer our questions.” He looked over the square again, and nodded. In that moment, Bilbo thought he could see the Wizard as he truly was – ancient and wise and full of knowledge of things Bilbo could not comprehend, nothing like the peddler of fireworks and fun that Bilbo had once known. “I am going to go and get a good night’s sleep. I can only advise that you try to put this from your mind for now, Bilbo. Time will tell what will come of this.”

Bilbo stayed seated, half-heartedly pulling on his pipe. He watched the square for as long as the light allowed, barely noticing himself growing colder as the last of the light disappeared. The people continued to move around in their own lives, ignorant of the huge changes taking place around them. For a moment, Bilbo felt breathless with it, so alone on that too-large bench, in too-large town; sitting in the cold and the dark and wondering if anything in his life would ever go back to how it was again.


	6. Chapter Six

Bilbo was so exhausted and drained from the conversation with Gandalf and the headache that was returning that he just wanted to go to bed. Unfortunately, he had not actually been told where his bed would be, so he was forced to face the dwarves still in the common room. Only Bifur, Bofur and Bombur were still in the room, Bombur was apparently finally getting around to his bath, and Bifur and Bofur were sitting beside the fire with a drink. 

“Um, hello,” Bilbo stuttered, suddenly overcome with nerves he hadn’t previously felt around the Dwarves. “Do any of you know where I can sleep tonight?” He asked. 

“Thorin’s room is the second door to the right.” Bofur said, grinning jovially. “I’m sure you can sleep there if you want.” 

Bilbo flushed terribly and stammered for a few seconds. Bofur seemed to take pity on him, because he laughed and clambered to his feet, clapping Bilbo on the shoulder. “Sorry, my friend, I was only teasing you. Thorin will want to talk to you properly before you Bond.”

Bilbo thought about protesting for a moment, but he was just so _tired_. They could deal with this tomorrow, he decided – tonight he was going to enjoy his last night in a real bed for a long while. 

Bofur gamely led Bilbo to a room with two beds in it, where he travel pack had already been stowed.

“Bif and Bom are sharing the room next door, we’ve decided I will go and join them as well. We don’t feel really comfortable with anyone sharing a room with you in private at the moment.”

“What? Bofur, that’s ridiculous! I’ve shared rooms every night so far, you can’t just start treating me differently now because of this… this… hokum!”

“No, Bilbo. It’s not… It’s hard to explain, your people don’t have Guides so you don’t understand. Unbonded Guides are uniquely vulnerable to the mental presence of others, even mundanes, especially when their defences are down like in sleep. And I’m not… not really mundane, even if I am latent. It’s not a slight against you Bilbo; we just want to protect you. ‘Sides, it’s not like I haven’t shared a bed with them before, even if Bom snores awfully.”

Bilbo sighed, irrationally irritated by the latest bit of nonsense in this whole Guide situation, but nodded gratefully and went to prepare for bed. 

* * * * * 

The next morning was overcast but warm for the season, which was probably the best weather they could have for a long day’s travel; unless the clouds darkened and rain started. 

Bilbo wasn’t sure what he expected from the company or from Thorin – from the King. But it was quickly clear that the priority was to push on and cover as much distance as possible, so after an early breakfast they mounted up and started out. Bilbo was aware of the stares and looks of the others but ignored them resolutely the whole journey.

They broke for lunch eventually, but Bilbo found that he wasn’t hungry. It was probably the first time he could ever say such a thing, and he thought he should be worried but his emotions felt fuzzy and distant. The day passed in a quiet blur for Bilbo and he didn’t really come back to himself until they were seated around the campfire that evening, and someone put a plate of food into his hands. He followed the line of the arm up to find Thorin – the King – crouched in front of him.

“How are you, Bilbo?” He asked quietly, watching Bilbo closely with solemn eyes. Bilbo realised suddenly that he could feel everything – the worry in his mind, the hunger gnawing at his stomach. He could even feel a strange, foreign feeling of pride and worry and joy mixed together. It took him several long minutes before he realised that the feelings were coming from outside of himself, and a few more to realise they were coming from _Thorin_. 

“I don’t know anymore.” He whispered quietly, and bent his head to his food. He finished his meal quickly and was quaffing some drink before he realised that Thorin was still holding his hand. He flushed and tried to pull his hand away – Thorin kept a hold for a few seconds before reluctantly letting go. Bilbo immediately felt much worse. 

He retired to bed early, but found he was unable to sleep in the bedroll on the rocky ground. He closed his eyes and drifted, shifting uncomfortably every so often. After a few minutes, he heard the sounds of music starting up as the Dwarves began playing and singing. At first the singing was the rough but oddly pleasing sounds of the Dwarven language, but after a few songs a rather more familiar tune started up – one of many rousing and rowdy inn songs from the Shire. He turned his face into his pillow to stifle his fond grin as he listened.

Somehow the songs of home were a lullaby to him, because when he next came to awareness the night had deepened and only a handful of Dwarves were sitting round the fire speaking quietly. Bilbo, lying close to the fire, was able to hear them if he listened carefully, and he couldn’t help it when he heard himself mentioned. 

“…need to Bond with Bilbo already, Thorin! You have not had any sensory spikes, rashes or pain since he helped you yesterday.” Bilbo frowned into the dark, but finally placed the voice as Kili’s. Fili, he recognised, was sitting beside and nodding along with his brother. Dwalin and Ori were also there, backing the Princes up on their argument.

“I will not Bond with anyone just because they helped me once – the Hobbit did not even realise what he was doing. He is extremely confused by all of this and does not understand what is moving between us. I will not take advantage of him.” 

“Thorin,” Dwalin rumbled quietly, “you know how… conflicted I felt when I found Ori. He was – is – too young and too innocent for my life. But I did him, and us both, a disservice by denying him. Ori _suffered_ because of me, Thorin.” Bilbo’s heart twisted for the young Dwarf, but he heard Ori murmur soothingly to his Sentinel.

“I know, Dwalin. But you are together now, and happy. That’s what is right for you both.”

“And this is what is right for you, Thorin. You came online when the Dragon came; you have spent over a hundred and seventy years on your own without a Bond. Most Sentinels would not have survived that, I don’t understand how you haven’t. You have met every online or latent Guide there is among our people – there are those who have come from all over to visit with you, in case they turn out to be your One. Bilbo is the only Guide you have _ever_ had a positive reaction with. You cannot deny that, Thorin. He is your One – he is perfect for you.” Bilbo’s breath caught in his throat, he had never been – no one in the Shire had ever – and now suddenly someone was saying that he, that _Bilbo_ , could be… everything to someone? He could scarcely believe it, and Thorin’s next words made his heart plummet. 

“He is not a Dwarf, he is a Hobbit.” Bilbo turned his face back into the pillow, this time to muffle his soft, ragged breaths. It felt like his heart might be breaking. For a single, shining second he had thought someone could want him, where no one in his life had ever even given him a second look. He almost wanted to stop listening to them, but he couldn’t help listen to Thorin as he continued speaking.

“He was raised to believe he would not be a Guide, that he _could_ not be a Guide. If he were a Dwarf, I would have Bonded with him already, gratefully. But right now he is suffering coming online and doesn’t even understand half of what is happening to him. I could Bond with him now, easily, but he would suffer for it afterwards when he realises what it all means, and he would have no recourse or safety, because I would be the only thing offering him safety and I would be who he needed to be safe from. It is my worst nightmare, after my Grandfather… after everything… I could not imagine being the thing my Guide is scared of.”

That made sense, and Bilbo realised he was smiling at the thought. Thorin might like him, they could work. And, although the King intimidated Bilbo, in ways no one else in the Shire did, he was not afraid of him. He couldn’t imagine ever being scared of him.

“He’s right.” Ori said softly. “Dwalin, I suffered because I _knew_ I was your Guide and I felt rejected. Bilbo would suffer because he doesn’t know anything about this. I will speak with him, help him understand what is happening to him and what it means to be a Guide, and then you can Bond with him if that’s what he wants.”

“That sounds like the best idea, Ori.” Thorin agreed. Bilbo agreed as well, it was time someone explained exactly what this whole Guide thing meant, because it was becoming clear that this was not going to stop happening to him.

“But, there is one thing you need to do,” Ori said, “for Bilbo’s sake. You must have noticed how he was today?”

“I noticed.” 

“That won’t stop happening to him. He initiated a partial Bond, in the bathtub – it’s something all Guides can do, it’s what I would have done for you had he not been there.” Dwalin growled, low, at the thought and Bilbo frowned irritably as well. He did not like that idea _at all_. “He is connected to you now and without that connection he will start to fade. We can break it, at this stage that is easy, but if we do, you won’t ever be able to Bond properly with him. I think it is best for both of your sakes to keep the partial Bond in place – it is helping you with your senses and making his awakening much easier for him, never mind what breaking it would do to your future.”

“He seemed fine at dinner.”

“He seemed fine when you were holding him.” Ori explained wryly. Bilbo felt oddly embarrassed at the way he worded it.

“You’re saying I need to… _hold_ … the Hobbit?”

“You can try not saying it like it horrifies you. And yes, you already know this. A partial Bond is sustained and strengthened through contact. Dwalin and I slept together every night until we completed the Bond. I would suggest, given our circumstances, that you do the same.”

Bilbo blushed, suddenly feeling like he couldn’t keep listening to this conversation. He grumbled a low breath and shuffled himself to lie on his other side, hoping that it wouldn’t be as rocky on that side. It was, but he was still able to finally close his eyes and sleep. 

He slept so well, in fact, that when he felt someone moving him, felt suddenly much more comfortable and so deliciously warm, he woke up only enough to accept that he was completely safe before he fell into the deepest sleep of his life.

When he woke up the next morning, he stretched out the kinks from lying on the ground, and froze when he realised he was stretching his body _against_ someone. Someone who was lying behind him, on the same bedroll. 

“Umm.”

“Relax, Hobbit.” The deep voice of the King rumbled behind him, before he moved. Bilbo yelped as he suddenly rolled backwards when the supporting weight disappeared, and by the time he struggled out of the bedroll Thorin was standing tall and directing the pack up of the camp. Bilbo scurried to pack up his bedroll – and Thorin’s, he noticed. He felt incredible, better than he had in years in fact. 

They completed necessary ablutions and collected water from the stream nearby. Breakfast was a hard packed roll of oats and syrup that had been specifically designed by a couple of Hobbits for travelling Dwarves. They were pushing forward within a short while of waking up, galloping on pony-back towards their next stop. Bilbo didn’t get a chance to speak to Thorin, to find out what was going on. 

When they settled for lunch, Bilbo found he was ravenously hungry and quickly ate his share. It was a huge difference to yesterday, and he found himself remembering the overheard conversation from the previous day. Whatever this partial Bond worked, he realised that he liked it. 

“Bilbo, do you mind if I sit here?” Ori’s soft voice asked. Bilbo smiled at him and nodded.

“Of course, Ori. I was hoping to speak with you. I have a few questions.”

“About being a Guide?”

“Yes. I was hoping, well… I don’t really understand much.”

“OK. Well, there’s a lot to learn, more than I can really cover here. But the important things, I can explain. You’re a Guide. Before yesterday, you were a latent Guide, but when you helped Thorin your full abilities woke up. I think, to be honest, that you were coming online the whole week – your mindscape felt… different. And you had the headaches, they are fairly common in Guides when they are first coming online.”

“I’ve heard stories, Guides who first come online and they always sound like they are in so much pain.”

“Usually, yes. I suffered for over a year before I met Dwalin. Some go longer… but not many. Guides, we only tend to come online around Sentinels that are right for us. I met Dwalin once, he was escorting Nori home after… well. I was latent, but being in his presence for only that short space of time was enough and a week later I was fully online. A year later, I finally found him again and we created the partial Bond. 

“You and Thorin are slightly different – you’ve been coming online slowly since the two of you met, but when you helped him last night you created the partial Bond and came online. You never had a chance to feel the pain of being online without a Sentinel because you had a Sentinel in your mind from the second you came online.”

“What is the partial Bond?” Bilbo asked quietly, trying to process the things Ori had told him.

“How much do you understand about the Bond?” Ori asked instead.

“It’s a Bond between Sentinels and Guides, it’s a mental thing.”

“Yes, and no. Sentinels have five advanced senses – they can see, hear, smell, taste and touch better than others. They also have abilities to process that information in ways that others don’t, it can sometimes seem like… like a premonition. Several online Sentinels had premonitions of something dangerous coming before the Dragon came, and their warning saved hundreds of Dwarves. But with their strengths come risks – zone outs like Thorin had yesterday, when he became so focused on something that he lost track of the world around him, because all he could sense was that one thing. And sensory spikes – suddenly one or more sense goes so high they can’t process it any more and it just hurts. His rash, yesterday, was a form of a sensory spike where his skin couldn’t handle what it was touching and started up an allergic reaction.”

“So they have Guides.”

“So they have Guides. We have mental abilities beyond others of our kind, it gives us empathetic abilities and the ability to connect with the minds of others. We can sense if people are lying, and catch hints of emotion, especially strong emotion. But we have no natural shields for our minds, and we are vulnerable to others. This is why you had a headache all week – our minds were pressing in on yours, you couldn’t process it because you weren’t online but you could feel it. 

“We build a connection with our Sentinels, nest ourselves in their minds and they create shields – they don’t have the same abilities we do but they have enough to shelter and Bond with us. This is the partial Bond. This is then built on to create the full Bond through a physical connection – usually sex, but it doesn’t have to be. The Sentinel imprints all of their senses on us and we become the centre of their senses. They no longer suffer sensory spikes because they balance their senses on us, they are less likely to zone and when they do zone our Bond allows us to connect with them and bring them around quickly. Others can bring them out of it but it takes a long time.”

“Sex?” Bilbo squeaked. Ori grinned.

“It’s not needed for a Bond. But it is a lot easier and stronger than a Bond without sex and really, once you’re Bonded, the idea of letting someone else touch you is… well, if you want sex, you’re going to want it with your Sentinel.”

“Ok,” Bilbo said, and decided that was more than enough of that conversation. “So I have a partial Bond with Thorin. What happens now?”

“The partial Bond doesn’t go away on its own, but you can break it if you want to. But it creates… I don’t know how to explain it. I’d say it’s like a scar. You can both still Bond but you can’t Bond with each other – the broken Bond blocks you from creating a new one.”

“I’d never be able to Bond with Thorin?” Bilbo hadn’t realised how he felt about the Bond, really, but the idea of never sharing this with Thorin again was awful. 

“No,” Ori said gently, clearly understanding Bilbo’s sudden pain. 

“Ok, that’s not… I don’t want that.”

“Well then, you would Bond fully. You can keep the partial Bond but it’s not enough, really – for either of you. You’re still vulnerable to particularly strong emotion or a mental attack, and Thorin is still at risk of sensory spikes. You don’t have to rush into anything, but you should Bond as soon as you can.”

“And we do that by…”

“Well, Thorin does most of the work at this point. He needs to imprint all of his senses on you. He probably already has a full imprint for hearing – he needs to listen to the sound of your heartbeat and breathing and imprint on that, I would be very surprised if he hasn’t already. He needs to imprint your natural scent as well, he’s probably got a partial imprint but the deeper scent – that’s in your glands behind your ears, your wrists and stomach and your groin. Then he tastes – they usually taste at the glands, to get both the taste and smell from the richest source. Touch comes next, he needs to touch every inch of your body, memorise your scars and moles and freckles, the feel of your skin and your hair…” Ori trailed off and shivered from positive memories. Bilbo was feeling quite… flushed himself.

“Then you make the mental connection. Sex is the best way to do it, really, but if you’re not comfortable with that, you would need to meditate together and Bond mentally. And that’s it, you’re his Guide.”

“Bilbo?” Bilbo squeaked, and went bright red as Thorin strode up and stared at him. He had no doubts, suddenly, that Thorin had been listening to the entire conversation. 

Ori melted away quickly, leaving just Bilbo and Thorin together. Bilbo stood up, looking the King in the eye. He could see Dwarves moving around, packing away their lunch things. They were preparing to go again, he realised – had probably been waiting for he and Ori to be ready. 

“Are we ready to go?” Bilbo asked softly. Thorin nodded, once, and touched his cheek gently. Then he turned around and strode back to camp. Bilbo slumped a little, then squirmed as he realised he needed to get on a pony in his… current state.

It was a fairly uncomfortable ride.

* * * * *

“Thorin, may I have a word?” Bilbo asked that night after they had eaten their fill. The others were already pulling out instruments and starting up some tunes, which gave he and Thorin some privacy as they moved away from the others and towards a copse of trees. Bilbo spread out his bedroll and sat carefully on it, inviting Thorin to join him. Thorin lowered himself to the blankets carefully, but his face was open as he looked at Bilbo.

“I spoke to Ori today. I understand what has happened between us and know what comes next. I also overheard your conversation yesterday – you have been alone for a long time, Thorin. I might not be a Dwarf, or a real Guide. But I can help you, and you… you make me feel safe. My Gift is not going to go away, I know that, and I can’t comprehend living without you. I want… I want to complete our Bond.”

Thorin watched him in stone-faced silence for a long time, until Bilbo was squirming under his gaze and bright red. Then he spoke. “First, I never want to hear you speak that way again. You are a real Guide, Bilbo; you are strong, and empathetic and have powerful mental abilities. Even before your gifts manifested, you were generous and kind and welcoming; and brave for all your fears. You were the ideal Guide before you ever became my Guide and I would be honoured to have you as mine. But… I’m not sure if I feel comfortable Bonding with you while you still know so little about your nature.”

“I know this, Thorin. Ori has explained about the Bond, and how important it is. And I may never have been online without our Bond but I already know that it would be painful. I don’t want to lose our partial Bond. But, I need you to hear me on this Thorin, I know we could keep the partial Bond and I would be fine, for the time. You would be fine for the time being. But we might die on this journey – we probably will, lets be honest. It’s going to be a long, difficult journey and I don’t want to do it with only part of you. If this is all we have I want it to be everything. I don’t want to face that dragon and regret what time we could have had. And I’m definitely not letting you face the dragon with less than _everything_ , so we will Bond before we get there, no matter what else happens.”

“Don’t you want time?” Thorin asked, worry clear in his eyes. Bilbo grumbled, and decisively began stripping off his clothes. 

“You have as much time as it takes to get naked.” He retorted sharply. “That’s all I need. I might not know everything about being a Guide, but I know enough to know that this Bond is the best thing for us both and I want this.”

Thorin grunted, wide eyes drinking Bilbo in as he got down to his smallclothes. Bilbo’s hands slowed finally – he’d gotten this far on passion, but suddenly he realised he was about to completely expose his soft, naked body to the Dwarven King. Thorin was watching Bilbo’s hands as they fumbled with his smallclothes, before he growled sharply and began almost tearing his own clothes off. Bilbo took the brief reprieve from his eyes to strip the remaining clothes off and shame-facedly pull out the vial of lavender oil he had filched from the baths at the Guardhouse. He had planned to use it if Thorin had another reaction, but this was as good a reason to use it. 

Thorin’s eyes went from the naked Hobbit, to the vial, to the bedroll. He smirked; confidence suddenly in his every move as he swaggered naked to Bilbo, pushed him down on the bedroll and crouched over him. 

“It is flattering to see how much planning went into this, dear Hobbit.” He rumbled happily, bent down and kissed him thoroughly. 

Bilbo moaned, letting the vial roll out of his hand to thunk lightly onto the bedroll, and buried his hands in Thorin’s hair. He felt Thorin’s hands roam over his body, touching him everywhere he could reach – his ears, his hair, his cheeks. His neck, shoulders and chest were mapped out with careful, thorough hands. He paid particular attention to his nipples when they made Bilbo shiver, trailed lightly over his sides but didn’t linger when it made him ticklish. They touched his stomach with gentle, almost reverent hands, and stroked slowly lower. He whimpered disappointedly when the hands lifted away a hairsbreadth away from his groin. 

Thorin’s mouth trailed lower, lingering at Bilbo’s throat. The scent glands, he realised, but it didn’t feel like imprinting – it felt like seduction, like possession. His back arched with a soft cry when Thorin bit down gently, panting wildly as the mouth just kept going, sucking and biting over and over. He’d never believed that his neck was so sensitive but it felt like every nerve-ending in his body was singing. 

Thorin pulled back, lips shiny and eyes bright. 

“I’ve imprinted on hearing, sight, smell and taste.” He rumbled. “Now all that’s left is touch. I’m going to touch you, Bilbo.” His hands returned to their previous place on his stomach, stroking a burning line down his quivering abdomen. “Everywhere,” he promised darkly.

Bilbo’s head flopped back onto his pillow as Thorin, true to his word, touched him everywhere. Some touches, like the quick strokes down his calves, were clinical and quick. Some, like the several long, teasing strokes over the top of his feet, were not. His hips earned gentle trickling fingers, his legs a full palm. His cock earned one soft, teasing finger, that stroked slowly from base to tip, then dipped into the slit in the middle. Thorin caught and held Bilbo’s eyes as he licked the drop of semen from the tip. 

The Bilbo was flipped onto his stomach and the touches resumed, shoulders to back, thighs, calves. Bilbo squirmed and giggled when his feet were stroked over, then his ankles. Then his arsecheeks were cupped and stroked, earning a blissful sigh. Finally, Thorin drew back and the vial was picked up. 

“One more place, Bilbo, and we’re all done.” He promised. By the time Bilbo realised his meaning, the scent of lavender was filling the air and one oil-slick finger was pressing inside him.

Thorin mapped him out carefully inside, finger pushing and prodding then curling. Bilbo groaned at the strange but pleasurable feeling of Thorin inside him and wiggled a little in encouragement. 

Thorin rolled him back over. Bilbo looked up and caught his eyes – they were still bright, but now fond and soft as well. There was something so light in Thorin’s eyes, and he realised it was the Bond. Bilbo cupped his cheek and drew him into a tender kiss.

“Finish the Bond, Thorin.” He asked quietly. Thorin nodded, and gently tugged Bilbo’s legs until they were wrapped around his waist and his hips were hiked up. It wasn’t the best position, but he couldn’t imagine not watching Thorin’s face as this happened. 

The oil was spread over Thorin’s cock, and he could feel the reside sliding over his hands and Thorin lined himself up and pressed inside. 

It wasn’t comfortable, not really – too big and stretched and on the point of sore, like having ridden a pony for too long. But it didn’t hurt and the connection he could already feel was incredible. His own joy and arousal was joined by Thorin’s, then excitement crept in, and lust burning with affection. He revelled in the sensations to the point that he was barely aware of Thorin thrusting into Bilbo in long, deep pushes. He came back into his body all of a sudden, crying loudly as the pressure and pleasure inside him suddenly exploded. He and Thorin spiralled higher and tighter together, pleasure and emotion building on themselves and each other over and over and over until they plummeted together as one being.

* * * * *

Bilbo wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. They had a long journey ahead of them, dangers he wouldn’t even know about until they happened, and if they survived they would have to face a dragon. There was so much coming, but all of it was worth it. Because he had Thorin now, by his side and in his heart, lodged there permanently. 

Whatever came next, he knew they could face this together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it finished! I feel that this part of the journey has been completed; as the set-up, explanations and world-building for this universe and I consider it a complete fic in its own right. it's not quite what I was planning when I started out writing this, but honestly the story I planned to write turned out to need about an extra 100,000 words! 
> 
> I have a lot of scenes written that never made the cut for this story and a lot of story that wants to be told. I can't promise that I will add to this series (and please do not ask me to!) and I am happy with the story here. But, watch this space, there is every chance I may add to this in the future.


End file.
